


Filling the Unforgiving Minute

by Lemondrop



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemondrop/pseuds/Lemondrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>511200 minutes during which Akaya grows up to become Kirihara-buchou and realizes how wrong they have all been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filling the Unforgiving Minute

_If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,_

_Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,_

_If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,_

_If all men count with you, but none too much;_

_If you can fill the unforgiving minute_

_With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,_

_Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,_

_And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!_

Rudyard Kipling-If

 

Perhaps one of the few unwavering truths the world has to offer is that time never stands still. Time flies and on its tails, inevitably, change appears. What was once important becomes irrelevant. What was once young becomes old. What was once alive becomes lifeless.

For Kirihara Akaya, former second year ace of Rikkaidai’s tennis team, the 511200 minutes  that had passed since he had first been entrusted the captaincy of Rikkai had brought with them a multitude of events, realizations and outright epiphanies, he would have frankly done without.

Some might say that the former baby of the team had grown up... Not entirely, perhaps. He still enjoyed going to the arcade and he still slept during his English classes. But in certain ways, in _important_ ways, Akaya truly believed that he had gained a modicum of maturity.

For Yukimura Seiichi time had not stood still either. But, instead of working in a progressive, linear fashion it had come in what it seemed to him to be a complete full circle. Or perhaps not, for the last link, the last piece that would have made the circle complete was still beyond his grasp.

* * *

 

**1445 minutes….**

Before becoming Rikkai’s captain, Akaya believed that being buchou meant being _cool_. After all, Yukimura was buchou and he was the coolest and outright most amazing person Akaya knew. Having power meant being respected, and Akaya had yearned for so long to be taken seriously that being captain seemed like a dream come true.

The first day, before he stepped onto the court with the title of “buchou” attached to his name, he had a big decision to make. He genuinely believed it to be the quintessential, single hardest decision he would have to make in his entire career as a captain:  should wear his jersey the same way that Yukimura-buchou did, or not? 

Something about the cape-like, superhero quality of the yellow jersey hanging on the shoulders appealed to him. However, when he tried and failed in front of the mirror several times, Akaya discarded the idea quickly and decided that he would find his own way of looking just as awesome as Yukimura-buchou looked. After all, the last thing he wanted was to be seen as a copy-cat.  

Later on, when he looks back at the memory of the yellow jersey which just wouldn’t stay on his shoulders no matter how hard he tried, it strikes him as oddly prophetic.

**1448 minutes….**

The first day of high-school was much less exciting than Seiichi had expected. Everything was just the same, only that they had moved to the bigger building on campus and the courts of the high school tennis team were bigger, more accommodating. His reputation preceded him, and the moment the prodigious Child of God stepped onto the courts was the moment he established his superiority. He might not have been captain of the high school team yet, but the captain was clearly in awe of him and was quite reluctant to challenge the renowned Three Demons even at the expense of his own pride.

As his team destroyed the Rikkaidai High-School regulars, Seiichi could barely hide the feral smile that appeared at the corner of his lips.   

* * *

 

**2893 minutes…**

Reality splashed Akaya wide awake when he was faced with the disaster that was the post-Three Demons Rikkaidai tennis team. To say that his first batch of regulars was weak, would have been a gross overstatement.

Before being faced with the stark reality of the situation, the plan had been simple: he would build another group of Three Demons, with himself at the center, and that they would bring the national title back to Rikkai. Then, fukubuchou, buchou and Yanagi-sempai would see that _his_ Three Demons were better than them and they would congratulate Akaya, and finally recognize his superiority in all matters of tennis.

But his vice-captain wasn’t Sanada-fukubuchou, his data-master was non-existent, he wasn’t Yukimura-buchou and, somehow, building a team around three gifted players quickly lost its appeal.

**2898 minutes…**

Yukimura had promptly been named vice captain of the team, only because it would have been terribly disrespectful to the current captain to replace him after two days of holding the position. It mattered little to Seiichi what his title was. After all, his current team was his former team, with the marked absence of Akaya, and they all obeyed his orders to the letter. The captain could keep his title because they all knew who was in charge, anyway.  

And yet, something was missing. This Rikkai wasn’t his Rikkai. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

 

**11560 minutes…**

It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Yanagi-sempai who came first and Akaya didn’t dare to tell him how much he hated being captain, how much he hated his team and how utterly hopeless he felt.

Instead, he spent an entire hour showing Yanagi-sempai around, as if he was unfamiliar with those courts, ordering a pre-regular to bring them soda from the vending machine. He felt proud that he could at least show his sempai that his orders were being obeyed, but Yanagi-sempai didn’t seem all that impressed and instead took to observing him in that quiet way of his, while they walked side by side, soda cans in hand.

Akaya knew, just knew, that Yanagi-sempai knew, or at least suspected, how bad things were. And he did want to tell. He wanted nothing more than wrap his arms around Yanagi-sempai’s midsection and cry into his shoulder. Then, Yanagi-sempai would comfort him like when fukubuchou was particularly hard on him, he would offer a solution and all would be well again. But that time seemed somehow gone. 

**11568 minutes…**

When he heard Renji was planning to pass by the middle-school courts, Seiichi didn’t offer to join him and the data master didn’t press the point, but he did momentarily open his eyes to observe his friend closely. Yukimura chose to ignore him.  Akaya needed time and so did he.

* * *

 

**43200 minutes…**

They all come, in succession, and by the time fukubuchou actually came, Akaya wanted nothing better than to tell them to stop. Seeing them there, on _their_ courts, hurt. 

Especially since, after they were gone he was left behind with a group of regulars who constantly proved themselves to be utterly useless. He dreamt of the moment he would enter high-school and would be reunited with his sempai-tachi. It was the only thing that gave him a modicum of hope and momentum to go on.

Back then, he had felt trapped in a sort of limbo of mediocrity and the only escape has seemed his inevitable joining of the Rikkai high school tennis club.

**43208 minutes…**

Seiichi didn't go. Akaya still needed time.  

* * *

 

**86400 minutes…**

Akaya’s first two months as captain had been consumed by a desperate need to find a team that would actually win the first rounds of Kanto. The team of legend which had managed to win two national titles, and had been on the brink of winning a third, was long gone. In its wake it had left a batch of pre-regulars who had been told for years that they were not good enough to be part of the team that would represent Rikkai in tournaments. While before the law of always winning the previous generation had established had seemed natural, almost effortless, it was a heavy burden to bear during Kirihara-buchou’s captaincy, mostly because it was thoroughly unfeasible.

 

**86480 minutes…**

The first time Seiichi visited Akaya was just before the start of the Kanto tournament. He waltzed onto the tennis courts, leaving a trace of dumb-struck middle schoolers in his wake, whispering and nudging each other about how very impressive the Child of God truly was.

“My, Akaya, have you grown taller? I distinctly remember you to be shorter than this!” Yukimura offered benignly, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Akaya suddenly felt beyond angry.  He was furious. In all honesty, what Yukimura had said was nothing to be angry about. His statement was not said out of maliciousness or an attempt to mock Akaya in any way. It was just Yukimura being Yukimura in that infuriatingly motherly way of his. But something had irreversibly changed and Akaya wasn’t aka-chan anymore, the baby of the team and buchou wasn’t the only one who could protect him from fukubuchou’s wrath.

“You were wrong!” he blurted, his words sharp, fully intended to hurt.

“I beg your pardon?” Yukimura answered, obviously slightly taken aback

“You were wrong. About tennis. About winning. About everything” he explained as calmly as he could.

“I am not certain I follow …”

“Do you know what kind of team you left me with? Do you know how many nights I spent awake afraid that my team will be useless and that you and fukubuchou would be ashamed of me? Do you know how long it took me to convince _my_ team that they were good enough even if they weren’t as talented as you and the others?” the questions were asked rapid-fire, in a raised voice and he felt like a huge weight was being lifted off his chest.

“Akaya!” buchou chastised in that soft voice of his and, for a moment, Akaya was transported back to a time when things were simpler, to a time where he yearned for that voice, to a time where he would have obeyed every request made by that voice. But the moment was quickly dispelled and he felt sad, for himself and for buchou, because that time was long past and buchou wasn’t buchou anymore.

“Why couldn’t you just… I don’t know… have some of the pre-regulars actually play some matches? Or pay more attention to them… or I don’t know… do something so they didn’t suck as much!” his thoughts were disjointed, he felt confused and he was not exactly certain why he was angry at Yukimura… but he knew that he was and he had an immeasurable urge to try to make Yukimura understand the shame, confusion, mental anguish and torment he had experienced. 

“Akaya, as you know, as captain you have to do a lot of things to ensure the victory of the team and making pre-regulars play would not have been feasible” his former captain explained kindly as if he were explaining a particularly hard word to a kindergartner, his eyes searching Kirihara’s features perhaps to try to find the answer to his strange behaviour would. 

“But you weren’t really our captain, were you, Yukimura-sempai?” the blow was low even for Akaya’s standards, but it had been dealt in a fit of pique and of rebellion. A shadow passed on Yukimura’s fair features and an unmistakably sad smile appeared at the corner of his lips. Suddenly, he seemed fragile, broken, and human and Akaya wondered whether he had crossed some invisible line, or whether he had done some irreversible damage to the person in front of him. 

“So, I wasn’t your captain. I didn’t leave a strong team behind. What other slights am I guilty of, Akaya?” his voice while sad, had a defensive, steely quality to it.

Akaya didn’t answer. For the first time in his life, he turned his back on buchou and left towards _his_ courts.

* * *

 

**106560 minutes…**

He, _his_ Rikkaidai had been beaten. Ironically enough, by Fudomine of all teams. Faced with eight skilled, national-level players, Rikkai’s team comprised of himself and other mediocre, somewhat-demotivated, former pre-regulars with no match experience hadn’t had much of a chance. Apparently, that Tachibana guy had been onto something when he had formed a team entirely out of second years.

For two whole years, Akaya had been told by his sempai-tachi that winning was all that mattered.  He begged to differ. Perhaps that was the chief change the experience of being captain had brought about within him. Had he been inclined to spew philosophical platitudes, he would have said something to the effect of “the journey is more important than the destination”.

But that wasn’t exactly Akaya’s style. Instead, he frankly admitted to himself, and to all those who were willing to listen, that taking a bunch of weak pre-regulars and moulding into a team which was capable of the performance his Rikkai had been, was far more rewarding than simply winning. Developing, nurturing, fostering talent and motivation were far more fulfilling than having a couple of incredibly gifted individuals do what they do best.

It was in that context that he realized buchou, fukubuchou, Yanagi-sempai and all the others had done the team a disservice by imposing a law of always winning. True enough, losing was not the best feeling in the world, but it was an integral part of life. Valuable lessons were learned from loss. Valuable conclusions were drawn. Valuable feelings were experienced. One such feeling was the complete and utter love of tennis. Loving something at which you are good at is easy. Loving something when you repeatedly fail at it is true love.

His team didn’t have a Marui-sempai who could do tight-rope walking, a Jackal-sempai who never got tired, a fukubuchou who could invoke the FuRinKaZan, a data master who could predict his opponent’s moves, a Niou-sempai who could create illusions on the court or a Yagyuu-sempai who could strike the laser beam. Instead, his team had seven individuals who loved their sport so much that even after a shameful defeat they would still be on the courts eager to train.   

**106568 minutes…**

When Renji told him that Rikkaidai had fallen to Fudomine in the semi-finals of the Kanto Tournament, Seiichi said nothing.  There was nothing that he could do or say that could make the situation better for his kohai.

Instead, he ordered his regulars a myriad of laps around the court and extra weights training.

Even if he couldn’t help Akaya at that very moment, he would make certain that he would be part of a winning team when he came back to them.  

* * *

 

**511200 minutes…**

Kirihara-buchou’s stellar record included a fourth place in the Kanto tournament and a qualification in the National semi-finals. In all honesty, Akaya couldn’t have been prouder.

Kirihara-buchou had learned to love tennis with every fibre of his being. He didn’t just love the rush of winning, but he loved tennis regardless of whether he won or lost a match, regardless of whether his team was first or last. Akaya, on the other hand, had done everything in his power to win. He had hurt his opponents, he had allowed himself to be manipulated by his senior teammates and he had generally agreed with the law imposed by buchou and fukubuchou.

It was that particular difference which brought the former second year ace of Rikkai to his current conundrum.

Hovering indecisively by the door of the high school tennis club room, enrolment request fully completed in hand, Akaya wondered if he should truly step inside and join the club. On the one hand, he loved tennis and wanted to play it as much as possible. On the other hand, he loved tennis and he didn’t want that feeling to be once again consumed by the rush of only playing to win.

“Akaya, how good to see you!” a melodic voice resounded behind him and Akaya cursed his horrible luck.

Kirihara Akaya had been enrolled as a student at Rikkaidai High School for exactly four days. Four out of those four days had been spent avoiding precisely the person who was now standing behind him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Yukimura. On the contrary, to a certain extent he missed Yukimura and he longed to see him. It was just that his former captain had a certain influence on him, on all of them really, and he knew, he just knew, that if he actually talked to him he would be caught in buchou’s spell and would end up doing whatever buchou wanted. Which would probably be joining the tennis club.

Reluctantly, Akaya turned to face his interlocutor knowing fully well that he would have absolutely no reason to ignore him.  Yukimura hadn’t really changed. He had the same lithe, pale figure, the same dark blue hair reaching the nape of his neck, the same dark indigo eyes which seemed to penetrate into his very soul, the same benevolent smile expression gracing his features. But, as he looked at the man in front of him, he realized that something was different.  Somehow, buchou wasn’t buchou anymore. He hadn’t been for quite a while.  

 “You lied” he blurted out and Seiichi had a strange sense of déjà vu.

“What about?” he asked patiently, his arms crossed, his posture slightly tense.

“You said winning is everything! It isn’t! I had so much trouble understanding that. I had so much trouble understanding that I can be proud of my team even if they don’t win every game” Kirihara said quickly, his voice laden with bitterness “Do you love tennis?”

“Of course I do” Seiichi answered automatically.

“Do you love tennis more than winning at tennis?” the younger asked, clearly displeased with the mechanic answer he had received to his previous question.

Seiichi didn’t answer and instead looked at Akaya carefully. Outwardly, his kohai was almost unchanged. The same head of unruly hair, the same almond-shaped green eyes, and the same thin mouth set into a petulant scowl. And yet, no matter how much he hated to admit it, something had changed. He could see it in the fierce determination present in Akaya’s eyes and the frown of disapproval marring his forehead. For a moment, Seiichi felt unreasonably angry of his kohai, for he seemed to have attained something that was beyond his comprehension.  

“I love tennis. Not because I am good at it. Not because I win a lot. But just because I love tennis. And I don’t want to lose that, because it’s the best feeling in the world.” The younger student said with a tone on finality, and, for the second time turned his back on his buchou.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and its wonderful characters do not belong to me but to Takeshi Konomi.


End file.
